You Wouldn't Do The Same?
by dark-angels-who-eat-cookies
Summary: Bella comes to Forks a different person... she is broken. Can Edward heal her? Does she want to heal? And where does she know Emmett from? AU, rewrite in process. New chapter up, because I love you :D
1. Bella

Yes! A re-write! I am as surprised as many of you (I assume). This is very rough, and has gone without BETA'ing. Enjoy, please :)

X-x-Twilight-x-X

I hate school.

I hate lots of things, actually. My new foster family. My old foster family. All foster families I had stayed with for the past four years of my life. I hate the stupid foster home. And I hate the carers, with their expressions of faux pity.

Who do they think they're kidding? It's not like they care.

I hate Phoenix. I hate Seattle. I hate Michigan, Chicago and New York. In fact, I hate all places that I have resided in or will do so in the near future.

I hate day. I hate night. I hate heat. I hate cold. I hate my father.

But I won't go into that.

I hate sympathetic Claire, who is driving me to my newest hellhole… I mean, location of my most recent foster family. Fools. I hate the stupid hand-me-down clothes that all seem to be at least two sizes too big for me. I hate the fact that I'm starving, and that I haven't eaten in over twenty-four hours, and I hate that, even if I could get my hands on something to eat, I would probably just throw it back up again right away.

I hate this shiny, new car and the shiny, new car smell that overwhelms me and makes me want to chuck. I hate how my hair was scrubbed, so I would look clean and at least halfway presentable. I hate how it still stinks with the odious shampoo the foster home uses to cure and prevent lice.

I hate how my eyes burn, threatening to spill over with tears. The only thing holding the floodgates closed is my sheer determination, defiance, and desire to stick it to 'the man'.

I hate my pale skin that makes me an oddity wherever I go. I hate my face, which just seems to invite boys to hit on me constantly. I hate the mothers that coo over how 'pretty' I am, and the children that want the 'pretty' girl to be their newest play-toy.

I hate the fathers that want the same thing.

And I hate, hate, HATE Forks.

Little. Miserable. Wet. Three great ways to sum up Forks. I've got a better way, though. One word;

Hell.

I stare out the window aimlessly as Claire twitters on. I wish she would just concentrate on her damn driving; in addition to having the shortest attention span known to man (and the world's most ridiculous hairstyle), Claire also has the worst sense of direction. Ever. I have yet to come across someone who's navigational skills are even half as bad.

So, as it stands, the next few hours of my life look grim. Either the combination of Claire's inattentiveness and the heavy rain will cause us to crash, leading to a somewhat horrible death, or we will arrive three hours later than expected, by which I probably would have killed myself, instead of having to listen to the inane chatter coming from the front seat. Oh, joy.

I think I'd prefer the first one, actually. I mean, both will result in death, but at least the first would be without the endless torture that is known as _conversation_. Jesus.

Besides, it's not as if I have anything to live for any more.

Every now and then, I hear a random snippet of information pertaining to my 'new, exciting life!'. So far, I have learnt that my presence will make the total number of students at the local school a… not-so-round three hundred and fifty-eight. My 'family' includes at least one other teenager going into the junior class of Forks High, and more kids, too. Apparently, they have already fostered at least two children, and I have been assured that they are all eager to meet me.

Huh. I wonder how long that will last.

It seems to be a pity, the fact that, if I was not such a hopeless screw-up when it comes to behaving, I would be the golden child of the foster-care system. A pretty, slender young woman, in good health, with soft looks and shy ways.

That's the illusion the carers seem to be under. I know better.

I might have been like that, right at the beginning. Back in the first few homes. The parents were nice to me, but I was too miserable to appreciate it. Too caught up in my own loss.

The later homes they put me in, I blame them for destroying me. For months and months, I found myself stuck in the care of families who should not have even passed the initial inspection.

As if I wasn't already damaged from before.

That's another factor of why the system so desperately wants to display me as a success. Most kids have it bad, right? I mean, physical abuse and neglect are the main reasons kids end up in care.

Apparently, my psychological issues trump most others.

Claire continues on, but I keep ignoring her. Instead, I feign sleep, but for miles and miles, my mind is too restless. It's much later that I finally fall into a deep slumber, blissfully dreamless, but not before a thought snakes through, dripping cold malice and trepidation.

_How the hell have they managed to forget that this was where I lived before? _

X-x-Twilight-x-X

Claire's squeal of happiness is what wakes me. It's still raining, but we've stopped, so I assume this is the site of my new 'family'. Oh, joy.

True to form, Claire has got me here a stunning two hours and forty-three minutes later than the ETA. Even though I'm slightly disappointed we didn't crash, I am hopeful that my incredible lateness will be the first in many ventures that will antagonise my foster parents to breaking point.

They all seem to follow a schedule. First off, they are sickly sweet, ask too many invasive questions but it's okay if you don't answer. At this stage they want to get to know you a bit. The first time you screw up, they are sad and 'disappointed', but they forgive you almost immediately.

Next, they start expecting a response. They want compliments on their food, home and family, and they want you to be good at everything. They want you to answer every little question they come up with, without fail. When you get in trouble at this point, they punish you, but lightly.

Then they get pissed. When they say jump, you had better reach the stars, or they yell, and scream, and punish you for long hours at a time. You're always in trouble at this point, so it doesn't seem to be any different when you do something bad.

Finally – this is normally the stage before I get the hell out of there, or they send me back – the violence begins. They are still trying to prove to themselves that they are good people for taking me in, and that they can be the wonderful foster parents who turn my life around. Yeah, right. So they're all polite again, like the first stage, but much more strained, more effort put into it. Then, with one word, it can all crash down like a house of cards, and they lash out (normally, a slap, or blow to the face).

They get all apologetic, but I know they'll do it again, next time. When they do, I show they that I give as good as I get. Then I am out of there.

Hallelujah.

As Claire rummaged around for a batter old umbrella (one that I'm pretty sure got left back in Seattle) I pulled my thin jacket a little tighter around me, pulled my little bag onto my back and stepped out into the rain.

Holy hell, it was _cold_! I resisted the urge to sprint for the nearest dry location (in this case, the house in front of me) and instead weathered it, shivering after a few minutes. I had spent most of my time at a foster home in Phoenix, and it still took me ages to adjust to cold weather.

Finally admitting defeat, Claire ran for cover, not even bothering to lock the car. I wasn't surprised; I doubt anyone would be stupid enough to a) believe they could steal stuff when they could barely see through rain, or, b) actually want to lift Claire's hole of a car. I know I wouldn't.

Yes, that's another one of my problems. I'm a bit of a kleptomaniac. Well, technically I only ever steal for necessity, but the psychologists reckon I do it to get a high.

Then again, those shrinks are idiots.

The door opens before Claire knocks, revealing my overeager new fake-parents. They must have been waiting right by the door. Impatient much?

I admit, I was taken aback by the expression of joy on their faces. I mean, wow. The expressions that I was used to included approval and one of great sacrifice – like they were martyrs for some great cause as opposed to carers for trouble children.

But these guys looked – oh, I don't know – _happy_ to see me.

Weird.

Now, it's decision time. You see, the benefits of being taken back here, to Forks, is that I know where the hell I am. During my last night at the home, I had made a solemn promise to myself that I would get out of there ASAP, before anything could go wrong. I had a little money, and I knew that it would take a couple of days before the police finally caught up with me.

But now, my resolve was faltering, as I saw the silhouettes of my new family in the warm, welcoming light of the threshold. I could clearly see Claire's warning look, telling me to get the hell inside and stop misbehaving.

And I gotta admit, I was sorely tempted.

"You must be Bella," came the warm voice of my new 'mother'… but for some reason, I didn't feel like cringing away. Instead, I was drawn closer by the words that sounded like music to my ears. From this distance, I could just make out her smile.

She moved towards me, still smiling, uncaring that her smooth, wavy hair was getting soaked. Her face had such a maternal edge to it. "Welcome to our home."

X-x-Twilight-x-X

I would really love ANY criticism or comments you have, so review or PM me please, and I will try to respond to all of them.

**Thanks, DAWEC**


	2. Forcible Return To Reality

**I don't own Twilight, or any of the characters from the Twilight series. I most certainly do not own Forks, or any other place mentioned in this story.**

X-x-Twilight-x-X

"_You must be Bella," came the warm voice of my new 'mother'… but for some reason, I didn't feel like cringing away. Instead, I was drawn closer by the words that sounded like music to my ears. From this distance, I could just make out her smile. _

She moved towards me, still smiling, uncaring that her smooth, wavy hair was getting soaked. Her face had such a maternal edge to it. "Welcome to our home."

X-x-Twilight-x-X

So, here's the deal.

They're called the Webers, and there are five of them; 'mum', 'dad', monster twin one, monster twin two and a girl my age. Her name escapes me.

Mr Weber is the church Minister in Forks. As in, the singular one. His wife is a teacher (I think). She didn't act like one; she was far too friendly. In fact, they all were. It was more than a little creepy. Claire had a discussion with them about their new 'parenting' roles, but really, she was poisoning them against me. It's what she does with all new carers. She tells them that I'm a thief, a liar, and that no professional help can 'fix me'. She makes them regret their 'kindness' in taking me in the first place.

I must admit, I am determined to live up to that image. The sooner I am out of Forks, the better. I'm seventeen right now, eighteen in September. Right now, it's February. _Eight months_.

See, this is how I've got it figured out. I'm going to stick around for a few weeks. Catch up on some missed meals and lots of sleep – Maybe a few hot showers too. I'll wait until they've bought me some new gear, and then I'll get out of there. Lift some cash, maybe a car (the fastest one I can find) and hide out somewhere until my birthday.

I don't know what I'll do then, but as soon as I turn eighteen, it's over. They can't toss me back into the system. I'll be free.

Claire must have told them I already ate, because they didn't offer me anything, and Mrs Weber just showed me to the spare room – my room, for the next few weeks. She looked at my ragged clothes disapprovingly, and told me she would take me shopping the next day. Then she closed the door, and left me to my thoughts.

The room was not ugly. The walls were cream, the floor carpeted, and the ceiling was midnight blue. There was a desk and chair, a bedside table with an alarm clock and a box of tissues, and a bed.

Oh, the bed. The quilt was indigo, with purple embroidered patterns, and was thicker than anything I was used to. The sheets underneath were white and flannel. The room must have been connected to the central heating, because I could feel myself warming up and relaxing with each passing second. Relaxation was soon followed by drowsiness.

I lay in the bed fully clothed, after tipping the sweatpants and long sleeved top off – evidently meant to be my sleep ware. I heard Claire drive off, and, later, the sounds of a house going to sleep. The parents didn't check in on me. My stomach ached with hunger.

Two hours later, I was still stuck somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. It was a normal thing for me; I figured out I had insomnia a few years ago. It was always worse on the first night in a new place.

I pulled my pills out of my ratty bag, and shook one out onto my hand. They had been carefully hoarded from some previous carer, and they were one of my best-kept secrets. I stuffed the jar underneath the mattress, and lay on my back. They were the good stuff – they kept the bad dreams away.

As my eyes drooped shut, my last thought was _eight months. Eight months. _

Eight months, and then I'm free.

X-x-Twilight-x-X

Two days later, Mrs Weber drove Angela – she had thoughtfully reminded me what her name was – and me to the high school, complete with sprawling masses of staring kids. All of them were looking at me.

Oh, but of course; in a town this small everyone would know about the new foster girl. Any hopes I had nursed of anonymity vanished. Fine by me, though. I would only have to be here for the next few weeks before I got away.

I would have to endure.

It was raining lightly when I stepped out of the car. I left my black jacket in the car purposefully, standing in the rain in just my jeans and dark T-shirt. I dared them to look at me. Every single one glanced away. I walked to the reception unhindered, with Angela trailing behind. I stopped in front of a window, taking a moment to reapply my eyeliner and push my hair off my face. Then I strode into the office, and waited while Angela procured a timetable and map for my classes. Then she walked me to my first class whilst the secretary watched me with apprehension.

Angela wasn't in my English class, but she stayed around long enough to ensure that I had been introduced to the teacher and shown to a seat without any trouble. I was pretty sure she breathed a sigh of relief as she moved off to her first class, confirming my belief that her parents must have asked her to assist me.

I was put at the back, and the people in front turned around in their seats to get a better look at me. I ignored them easily as the teacher, Mr Mason, wrote on the board. He had passed me a reading list, mostly of classics that I had had to read at previous schools, but with nothing interesting. From what I gathered, Mr Mason was currently giving an introduction to basic poetry. After a few minutes of boredom, I ignored him too.

Halfway through the lesson, I did notice a boy sitting next to me. He looked to be paying complete attention to the teacher, but that seemed unlikely, as he looked to have everything that was written on the board down already, plus a bunch of stuff Mr Mason hadn't even mentioned yet. He was probably one of those overly clever guys, who spent practically every minute of their lives ready or studying.

But, no, he was a bit too attractive for that. His skin was pale like mine, and blemish free, and his hair was a shining bronze. His eyes looked to be a dark hazel, and his face was perfectly shaped. He looked like he had muscles. So he would be a jock, then, and dating a cheerleader.

No, that idea didn't seem to suit him, either. I felt my forehead crease as I thought about it.

"Was there something you wanted?" He was facing me, and I didn't even attempt to pretend I hadn't been watching him. His tone was very polite, but in a disinterested way. His eyes, now they were focused on me, seemed to be more of a dark-butterscotch hue.

"No, I'm fine," I responded, for some reason being as polite as he was. While he was looking at me, I noticed how handsome he was. We stared at each other for almost a minute before he blinked, and looked away. Something in his eyes looked… dissatisfied. Perhaps I hadn't been eager enough to fawn over him. That was probably it.

I forgot about him soon after I had reached that conclusion.

The rest of the lesson passed without incident, as did most of the classes before lunch. No one tried to approach me, something that I was more than thankful of.

In the cafeteria, though, all the tables were taken – there was no possible way to remain in solitude as I had all morning. I took the seat behind Angela that seemed to have been strategically left empty for that purpose.

On my right was a boy with obviously gelled blond hair, and a baby-like face. He was kind of cute, if you were into that sort of thing. I wasn't. Give me leather and muscles any day. He was smiling in a manner that was a little too friendly, and I was very conscious of how he moved a little closer to me after I had sat down.

Across from the table was a gawky-looking boy, who straight black hair and serious skin issues. He must have been staring at me, because when I glanced at him he was a little too focused on his plate, and his cheeks were bright pink.

There was a short girl, too, with dark curly hair. She was on the blond boys other side, and was chatting to him incessantly, even though his back was turned. Across from her was a girl many would consider pretty, with long, blond hair. There was some sort of malice in her face, though, especially when she glanced my way. She was filing her nails, and very clearly ignoring the dark-haired boy next to her.

"Hi, I'm Mike," said the blond boy, in what he probably believed was a sexy tone. He tilted his head so a lock fell over his eyes, and he smiled even wider.

"Bella," I said shortly, in a tone that didn't invite conversation. He decided to continue anyway. "You're new here, right?"

"What do you think?" I responded scathingly, rolling my eyes. Honestly. If this guy tried to hit on me next, I was _so_ going to kick him.

He shut up, thank god, and the curly-haired girl soon claimed his attention. She watched me with something akin to both protectiveness and apprehension. When our eyes met, she looked away first.

Fear is the only way to get respect in a place like this.

I finished my soda within minutes, and spent most of the lunch hour glaring at anyone who dared stare. None of them held my gaze for more than a few seconds before casting their eyes down, clearly embarrassed.

Then I saw him again; the guy from English. He was sitting with four other students, all of them as gorgeous as he was. They were segregated from the main group, but by their looks and their casual manner, it seemed likely their separation was desired by them.

There were two guys and two girls; one boy was bulky with muscle, with short, dark hair. He looked terrifying. The second was more lanky, with honey blond hair. The two girls were polar opposites; one was tiny, as thin as a toothpick, with inky-black hair cut short, and the other was tall and curvy, with wavy blond hair and an expression of great disdain on her face.

They were all as pale as each other, and they all had the same golden eyes. Looking at them, I couldn't see how I had thought the guy from English was a nerd at first. Separately, they were pretty. Together, they were heartbreaking beautiful.

He met my eyes, and time seemed to slow. I could hear blood rushing in my ears, my lips trembling, tremors shaking my whole body as I stood. I heard the faint hum of voices in the cafeteria go suddenly quiet, but my mind was miles away.

"No…" I whispered, my hands out stretched, trying to keep hold of something as unsubstantial as smoke, as incorporeal as a spirit. Something that had been haunting me for eight long years, the truth eluding me every time I got even close.

I saw his eyes widen, but he seemed glued to his seat. The others who sat with him were obviously confused, and distressed, shooting concerned looks at him, and terrified ones at me. I must have been horrifying, my face almost frozen in a mask of anguish, and tears, and memories that had been buried for too long.

"This is impossible," I said. I knew that I was crying, but I couldn't bring myself to care. "You're not real. You can't be here. You're _dead_."

I think everyone started talking then, but I couldn't be sure. No, I couldn't hear anything. There was a dull sort of ringing in my ears as I dropped to my knees, my heart aching.

He held me then, cradled me in his arms like he had always done when I was little. When he was alive, and with me. Suddenly, it all felt okay again.

I was vaguely aware that I kept muttering, "you're dead, you're dead, you're dead" again and again, but I was powerless to stop.

The haze around me evaporated as suddenly as it had come. "Don't worry," he whispered to me. "I'm here. It'll all be okay." I believed him, just as I always had.

Someone else drew near. The beautiful blond girl. She touched his shoulder, and whispered, "What's happening, Emmett?"

I heard him reply, in a clear voice that sent peals of ecstasy shooting through me. "Rose, this is Bella. She's my sister."

**Yeah, I'm sticking to the majority of the original story line. This will be lengthier, hopefully better written, and I will be changing the complication and ending of it. **

**Thankyou to anyone who has me on alert, and reads this. I'm sorry it took so long, I am trying my hardest to put up a new chapter. I have been working on other things (most notably, a novel). **

**Until next time, swallow a cookie :)**

Love Dawec 


	3. Not A Chapter

Hi everyone,

I am so sorry for doing this, but I just don't think I can write for fanfiction anymore.

So many things have gotten in the way (like life), but there was two more specific reason; I got over _Twilight_, and I entered my novel into a competition.

Even though I didn't win this competition, I was shortlisted. And I _loved_ writing that story. At one point, I typed straight for fourteen hours, and it felt amazing. I never really had that sort of motivation for any of my fanfic stories, and I think it was because I loved my characters, and it was so hard to go back to other characters that were practically strangers to me. Even if I adapted these characters so I could write with them, we all know how quickly I'd get attacked for being too OOC.

I have had such an amazing time being a writer for this community. I'd just like to thank everyone who read, reviewed, and especially PM'd me.

If anyone would particularly like to take on either of my stories, feel free to PM me, but otherwise, don't really expect an update.

Thanks, (and you may all have that cookie now)

DAWEC


End file.
